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They argue about who figured it out first.
Maybe Pete and Jean get there at about the same time, but the thing they both agree on is that Jim is dead last. If it were a race, they would’ve lapped him a few times over.
When Pete and Jean finally talk about it, there’s no fighting, no teary scene. That’s not her style and it certainly isn’t his. It’s just that one night after dinner, Jim reaches over and fixes the collar on Pete’s coat and he catches the look on Jean’s face. It’s not quite sad, but not quite happy, something like wistful, and it hits him then that she knows, has probably known for a long time. She meets his eyes and something like knowing passes between just the two of them, poor Jim not catching on to any of it.
“What’s funny to me is why he can’t figure it out,” Pete tells her one afternoon when he’s supposed to be helping Jim clear some brush from their back yard.
“You know him,” Jean says. She takes lemonade out of the fridge and fills up three glasses. “He’s smart about so many things, but blind to what’s right in front of his face.”
“Maybe he’s just playing dumb,” Pete says. “He’s sharp as a tack in the field, instincts on high alert in every situation. It could just be an act.”
“I’ve known that man since I was 17 and let me tell you he’s got no guile at all. He’s not naive by any means, just, I don't think it’s ever even occurred to him.”
“Should I tell him?”
She scoffed. “Pete Malloy, I would love to be in the room if and when you think you want to have that conversation. Go ahead, I am just dying to hear what you would say.”
“Alright, alright, don’t get so punchy. I’m just thinking out loud.”
He took a long swallow from the glass she put in his hand and they both watched from the kitchen window as Jim hauled dry brush into a pile in the middle of the yard. It was almost fire season, and the more they could clear the better. “When did you know, anyway? About me, I mean.”
“I suppose somewhere around the third or fourth girl you brought over for dinner.”
“Was I that obvious?”
She sighed and touched his hand. “Lord,no. Not like that. I just knew. I don’t know how I knew. It wasn’t that you never got serious with a girl, it’s just that, well, I could feel something was missing. Jim doesn’t know what to look for, but as a woman, I could tell. Not that you were rude or even cold to them. The opposite actually. You were kind, funny, charming, but it never reached your eyes. I just realized maybe you weren’t meant to feel that way about a woman.”
“It didn’t bother you?”
And now she glared at him. “How could you even think that?”
“It bothers plenty of people.”
“I don’t care about those people, and I’m certainly not one of them.”
He leaned over and kissed the top of her head, right as Jim hollered for both of them to stop dawdling and come help him.
***
They cleared up not just the backyard, but into the hills right beyond their fence. Fire season was unpredictable, and all it took was one burning ember blown the wrong way. After dinner, they took beers out to the back yard and Jim lit the first brush pile just as the sun was setting, the first of their controlled burns. They stared into the flames for a long while, not saying much, till Jean mentioned the wind had kicked up and Jim went inside to get her a blanket.
Pete waited till the door was shut behind him before speaking. “Maybe I’m being too hard on him. I only just figured it out myself.”
“When was that?” Jean asked, turning away from the flame. She had pretty brown eyes and they looked almost orange in the fire light.
“Right after Jim took down that sniper,” Pete said. It was easy to call up the feeling he’d had in the car, right after dropping Jim off at home, a deep pang in his gut. “He was in a bad way and it killed me to leave him. He was shaking something awful. All the way home I felt sick, not for me, but because he was feeling so bad. That’s when I knew I was in trouble.”
“He was a wreck,” Jean said, likely calling up her own memories. “I think he needed you that night.”
“That’s what made me feel so lousy,” Pete said. “Leaving him.”
They heard the back door slam, and Jim walked over with a load of blankets. He tossed one to Pete before draping one around Jean’s shoulders. “Thank you, darling,” she said, pulling it tight.
“Well,” Jim said, looking at him.
“Well, what?”
“Well, aren’t you going to cover yourself? You’ll get a chill.”
“I’m not cold, Jim. I don’t need a blanket.”
“It’s getting chilly though. Wrap it around your shoulders, at least.”
“Jim,” Pete said again, “I’m not chilly. And I’m not a child.”
It didn’t faze him, not that Pete expected him to. “Here,” Jim said. He handed his beer to Jean, and despite Pete’s protests, arranged the wool throw across his shoulders. “See, isn’t that better?”
From the side, he caught Jean smothering a laugh with the back of her hand. He scowled at her, but it was almost too dark to see. Jim took back his beer and stood between them, tugging the corner a little tighter around Jim’s shoulders. Pete glared at him, ready to chew him out, but on Jim’s face was the expression he saw so often, open, warm, without any pretense.
“I just don’t want you to be cold is all,” Jim said.
The brush piles burned quickly but it was still late by the time Pete gathered himself up to go home. He kissed Jean goodbye and clapped Jim on the shoulder, but was only halfway to the door when there was a hand on his elbow.
“You sure you don’t want to stay? It’s late. Plus, we got a guest room no one uses and a perfectly good couch.”
“My place is five minutes from here. I think I can make it without falling over.”
“That’s not the point.”
They went through this conversational dance most nights Pete came for dinner.
“Just what is the point then?”
“I don’t like you walking into a cold, dark apartment. That can bring a man down.”
“I’m a big boy Jim, I think I can take it.”
“You spend too much time by yourself anyway. It’s not healthy.” Jim was ramping up now, insistent.
“What time do I spend by myself? I’m trapped in a car with you 8 hours a day and then over here the rest of the time!”
By now, Jim was practiced at ignoring Pete’s outbursts. “The bed in the guest room’s real comfortable, and Jean and I won’t bother you in the morning. Sleep as late as you like.”
Pete looked at Jean, incredulous, and to her credit she didn’t burst out laughing. He took a deep breath, decided to force the issue.
“Jim,” he said. “Is there any other reason, any other reason at all, why you might want me to stay?”
For a second, he thought Jim might just get there. Just for a second.
“Well, you’re already here. You might as well stay here, right?”
He sighed. Kissed Jean goodbye again, and felt her smile against his cheek. “Good try,” she whispered.
***
“You know, most wives would be sore about something like this.”
Jean just shrugged. “I think I was at first. Not sore exactly, but confused. I knew I was picking up on something he hadn’t realized about himself just yet, so it’s not like I could get mad at him. It would be different if he was caught flirting or cheating with another woman.”
“Most women would have preferred another woman,” Pete said. He reached for her hand and helped her up over a small boulder. They’d decided to spend the morning hiking the trails up in Malibu, and like always, Jim was way ahead. “God knows it would be less complicated.”
“Well, it would be more boring too. Plus, I know he still loves me.” She sighed and took a second to look around at the view. The morning was hazy, but you could still see clear to the ocean. “There’s so many kinds of love in the world, Pete. I think the both of us got married before we realized that.”
“You ever have regrets? Wish you hadn’t said yes?”
“I probably should but I don’t. I mean, look at him.” She waved to his silhouette. Jim was at the top of the hill, waiting for them to catch up. “It’s hard not to love him, and not just cause he’s so good looking.”
At that Pete snorted. That Jim had movie star looks wasn’t lost on him. “He’s got the worst sense of humor though,” Pete said.
“Terrible,” Jean agreed. “And he’s as stubborn as the day is long.”
“He can never say no to people. Hell, he’s liable to let almost anyone walk all over him.”
“A bleeding heart for sure,” Jean said. “But, he’s kind. Probably the kindest man you ever met.”
“He is at that. Give anyone the shirt off his back.”
“He’s never said a mean word to me, and he’s not likely too.”
“No, he never would,” Pete said. “I’ve riled him up so many times, but he’s as patient as they come.”
“Sweet, too, wouldn’t you say? Dotes on the people he loves.”
Pete sighed. Thought about the million little ways Jim made sure he was looked after. “I’ll tell you what, he should either be less good looking or more of a jerk. At least then we’d have a fighting chance.”
“Maybe if he had a hump or something,” Jean said. “Or a big wart on his nose.”
“Hey!” Jim cut through their chatter, climbing back down towards them. “You two lazy bones coming or not? What are you gabbing about?”
“We were just saying we wished you had a hump on your back,” Jean called back up to him.
“Or that you were horribly disfigured,” Pete shouted.
“Quit kidding around. You’re slower than a pair of senior citizens.”
He prodded them up the hill, and for a while they were walking too fast to talk. When they finally reached the peak, Pete stood with his hands on his hips, the sweat pooling in the small of his back. “Jim,” he said, waiting till Jim was looking at him.
“Yeah?”
“Why’d you invite me on this hike? We’re going to be stuck in a car together for 8 hours after this. Don’t you want to spend alone time with your wife?”
“What’re you talking about? It’s good exercise. Jean doesn’t mind. Jean, do you mind?”
There was a twinkle in her eye. “I don’t mind, Pete. Not a bit.”
“Don’t you think we spend an awful lot of time together?” Pete said.
“Well, you’re my best friend and she’s my wife. Who else am I supposed to spend time with?”
It was like starring at a big, loveable puppy, albeit one with sharp blue eyes and a jawline that could cut glass.
“Forget it,” Pete said, starting the long walk back. “Forget I said anything.”
“Did you not want to come out today? Jean says sometimes I can’t take a hint.”
He couldn’t help the bark of laughter. “She’s not wrong about that, but no, I wanted to come. You’ll get sick of me eventually, though. Always hanging around.”
‘I wouldn’t. I won’t.”
“Well, maybe I’ll get sick of you.”
There was the slightest stutter in Jim’s step. The joke had winged him, just a little, and Pete felt like a heel. He let out another deep sigh and shared a look with Jean. “Maybe if his teeth were all crooked and yellow,” he said.
“Maybe if he had a long, ugly scar down the side of his face.”
“Or if his ears stuck out a lot.”
“Or if he was bald.”
They went on like that till they were breathless with laughter and Jim looked more confused than ever.
***
He runs into Debbie outside the college one day and they get to talking, and pretty soon he’s inviting her to the Reed’s on Saturday night. Jim takes her coat and crows over how nice it is to see her again, and they have a lovely evening, talking, drinking, playing cards. When they leave, Jim doesn’t reach over to fix his collar, or ask him if he’d rather just spend the night. He calls her up two days later and they meet Jim and Jean at the beach out in Malibu, a perfect little foursome.
“She’s a great girl,” Jean tells him, as they spread out the blankets and unpack the beach bags. Jim and Debbie are already in the water, splashing at each other.
“She is,” he said, stripping off his shirt and settling onto the sand. They watch the other two, Jim diving aggressively under the waves, Debbie squealing if the water splashes any higher than her waist.
“I’m not trying to make him jealous or anything,” Pete said. “I like spending time with her.”
“I didn’t think you were,” Jean said. “I don’t think he’s the jealous type, to tell the truth.”
“What if I said I was trying to move on?”
Jean laughed. “I wouldn’t believe you, not a bit. If you were really trying, you two would be here by yourselves, or taking a nice drive alone up the coast.” She sighed and squeezed his hand. “I know you Pete Malloy, and you wouldn’t dare break his heart like that.”
He didn’t say anything, but not saying anything was as good as admitting Jean was right. He kept his eyes on the water, and even though he tried to focus on the distant horizon, his eyes kept wandering over to Jim, diving under the waves, his strong, lean arms cutting through the water as he swam. Like everything he seemed to do, there was a natural grace to him, like he’d never spent a minute being uncomfortable in his own skin. After a few minutes, he started back towards the shore, powerful legs cutting through the undertow, shaking the water from his skin. His swim trunks clung to his thighs, pushed up higher than was probably decent. Jim gave one leg of his trunks a half hearted tug towards modesty but didn’t seem to care much past that. Pete let himself scan the broad outlines of Jim’s chest, let his eyes trail the strip of dark hair down his navel.
“You two coming in at all? Or just going to tan your pretty faces all day?” Jim shook more water on them, as he and Debbie plopped onto the blankets. The girls started chatting right away, while Jim rummaged through their beach bag.
“Can’t a man have a few minutes of peace before you start hollering, Jim.” Pete said.
“I’m not hollering. The water’s great. A little cold, but it’ll get you going.”
“Maybe I don’t want to get going, maybe I like it just fine on the sand.”
Jim ignored him and pulled out the tube of sun block. He gave the bottle a good shake and squeezed a golf ball sized amount onto his hand. Without warning, he smeared the cream in an arc along Pete’s back.
“Jim!”
“What?” His fingers worked the thick, white cream along Pete’s shoulders, rubbing it into the skin.
“Jesus christ, can you ask a man first?”
“You’re gonna burn, Pete. The sun’s gonna fry your back in a minute, and I’m the one whose gonna have to put up with you being itchy and uncomfortable.”
“I can do it myself,” Pete tried, half heartedly, to get him to stop, noticing the odd look on Debbie’s face.
“You’ve got the reach of T-Rex, Pete.”
“Jim, want me to take over?” Debbie shifted over, voice bright, and held out her hand for the bottle.
“Nah, I’m almost done anyway.” Jim pushed his fingers along the low curve of Pete’s back, the touch enough to make his stomach flip. Before it got anymore awkward, he jumped up and held out his hand to Debbie.
“You could fire me into the sun with all that nonsense you smeared all over me. Come on, Debbie, let’s try to wash some of it off.”
He didn’t miss Jim’s little hurt frown, hated again that Jim could face down a man with a gun like it was nothing but one snide remark from Pete could cut him to the bone. He caved quickly and held out his hand to help Jim up. “Come on, you too. Let’s see how cold the water really is.”
The swam in the water for a good half hour, diving up and over the waves, occasionally being knocked over and dragged under. He could hear Jim laughing, picking up Jean and hurling her into the water, her screams of laughter echoing up and down the beach. Debbie stayed close to him and Pete used the cover of water to pull her tight, till her arms were wrapped around his neck and her legs around his waist. She was flirting heavily, and Pete pressed closer, waiting for the flip in his stomach, the heavy heat between his legs, but it was only a weak shadow. He held her there for a little longer, mostly for show, till Jim started hollering that it was time for lunch.
“You think people can tell? Just by looking at us, I mean,” Pete asked. Debbie and Jim were all the way down the beach, on a mission to get hot dogs and sodas. He was thinking about the sun cream, Jim’s palm rubbing along his back.
Jean shook her head. ‘People only see what they want to see,” she said.
“You saw it though, didn’t you? No one had to tell you.”
“I would’ve had to be a real dimwit to miss it,” she said. “Or just willfully ignorant, I guess.”
“When did you know? There must’ve been a moment.”
“It was a build up really,” Jean said. She brushed the sand off her legs, and began to reapply her tanning cream. “He liked you well enough after his first week on the job, but pretty soon all I heard was ‘Malloy this’ and ‘Malloy that.’ I thought it was just a little bit of hero worship. To tell you the truth, I was worried you might be some big shot cop who would get my husband killed trying to play hero.”
He protested her assessment with a frown, and Jean touched his arm lightly. “I know better now. I remember the first time you came over for dinner, and well, I guess you were exactly like Jim described you and nothing at all like he said. I expected someone arrogant, bullish. But you were quiet, thoughtful. I could see right away why he liked you so much, how kind and patient you were with him.”
Pete felt himself blush. “So that was it? That’s all it took?”
“No, I probably only knew for sure the morning after you saved that man from jumping off the ledge.”
He looked over at her, surprised. He barely remembered that morning.
“I remember Jim called me that night and said not to wait up, that he’d be late because there was a lot of paperwork that had to be filled out. His voice was shaking a little, but I figured as long as he was alive, I didn’t need to worry. I went to bed and woke up a few hours later, and saw the kitchen light was on.”
“I didn’t realize we woke you.”
“I got up and thought, well, let me see if he’s alright. I was in the hallway, looking into the kitchen and I guess something stopped me. Just by looking at you two, I could tell you wanted to be alone. You were sitting at the table, drinking coffee, and Jim was making eggs, I think. I don’t think either of you said a word. I remember he set the pan down and then brushed his hand along the cut on your cheek. That was it really. Any dope could see it.”
Pete stared at the water. “He kept asking if I was hungry. I guess it shook him up, seeing me almost fall off the ledge.”
“Well, force feeding you eggs was about the only way he could show it, I guess.”
“He gets some foolish ideas. Like manhandling me with sun block. In front of the entire beach!”
Jean laughed and stood up to wave to Jim and Debbie, who were now a few yards away. “You don’t get it, do you? He’s like any another animal. He was just trying to mark his territory.”
***
Jim’s tolerance for turning their usual threesome into a foursome lasts another two weeks, right up until they’re at the tail end of a Friday PM watch. Pete mentions he may bring Debbie around for dinner on their day off, and for once Jim’s politeness fails him. He’s quiet, but his jaw is twitching.
“What’s the matter?” Pete said.
“Nothing, just that you’ve been seeing a lot of Debbie.”
“I have. Is that a problem?”
“No, but it’s not fair to her if you’re not serious about her.”
Pete looked over, decided to dig in his heels. “Maybe I am serious.”
“Come on, Pete.”
“What, don’t you like her? She’s a great girl.”
“She is a great girl.”
“Aren’t you the one who’s always telling me to get married? That I should settle down and let a good woman catch up to me?”
“Fine, bring her if you want. I can’t stop you.”
“Real ringing endorsement, Reed. I’m sure she’ll feel real welcome at your place with that attitude.”
Jim turned in his seat. “You’re not serious about her. I know you’re not.”
“How do you know that? Maybe I should finally settle down, and she’s as good a woman as any.”
“You don’t love her, I know you don’t.”
He was taken aback, at the hard edge in Jim’s voice. “How do you know that?”
Jim turned away and stared out the window, working through whatever it was in his mind. Pete kept his eyes ahead, but his palms were starting to sweat. He pushed again. “How do you know who I’m in love with, Jim? How?”
Jim’s mouth was a tight line, and he was doing the thing where he bit his bottom lip, a sure sign of distress. Pete felt like lousy about it, but dammed if he wasn’t going to get Jim there, even if he had to be dragged.
“I just know,” he said, quietly. He stared at his hands, and for a minute he looked much younger than 23.
“Jim—”
“It’s not that I don’t like her. I do like her.”
“What is it then?”
“When it’s just you, it’s like—” Jim cut himself off. He was twisting his fingers.
“Like what, Jim?” Pulling, pushing, dragging him, like a stubborn mule.
“Like everything’s in place.”
Pete didn’t say anything, just kept his eyes scanning the road. He waited till they’d done almost a full circle of their regular route.
“How do you know who I’m in love with, Jim?” he asked again, quietly.
Maybe Pete was kidding himself, but there was something dawning in Jim’s eyes.
Before he could say anything, the radio blared.
“One-Adam-12, One-Adam-12, shots fired, 7836 Toluca Lake, possible 211 in progress, code 3.”
And they were tearing down the street after that.
***
The simple calls often ended up being the worst. It was the noise disturbance that turned into a drowned 6-year-old, a neighbor dispute that turned into a murder, a stalled car that ended in a shoot out. Pete was too good a cop to go into any situation blind, he knew they would eventually end up on the wrong side of a call that went south.
The call comes early in their shift—an irate neighbor complaining about loud music— and he and Jim are debating where to stop for dinner as they roll up to the house. He lets Jim take the lead on this one and they talk to the father who can’t get his son to turn down the music, and they take a statement from the mother who can’t stand all the screaming and pounding on the bedroom door.
They try for almost 20 minutes, till Pete nods his head and Jim kicks in the door. The kid’s tweaked out of his mind, lolling on the bed, and Jim checks on him while Pete snaps the hi-fi off, plunging the room into blissful silence. He’s wondering if he needs to take the kid in or just call an ambulance when there’s a tussle by the bed. The kid leaps up, eyes wide, sweat beading along his brow, and makes a run down the stairs. He’s only two steps behind Jim as they run into the kitchen, but by then the kid is screaming like a madman, shouting about conspiracies and spies. Pete doesn’t have time to tell anyone to stay calm, to tell the parents to stay behind him. He sees a flash of a big butcher knife in the kid’s hand, and hears Jim harsh, exploding exhale as the blade plunges in again and again and again. He moves, he must, he doesn’t remember how. The kid is cuffed and screaming on the floor, and he rolls Jim onto his back, watching the blood pool through his uniform.
“Stay with me, partner. Jim, stay with me.”
The mother calls 911 and he runs to the car to radio for help, bloody fingers getting everything tackey. After so much noise, the silence is dull and hollow, ringing in his ears. It’s a bright, spring day; birds chirping, the low hum of cars passing, and the horrible, ragged sound of Jim gasping for air.
***
There are three deep stab wounds, the doc explains later, to him and Jean. The kid didn’t just slash at him, but stuck the knife as deep as it would go, pushing all the way inside. It makes Pete lightheaded, hearing him talk.
They wait for what seems like hours in the sparse, white hospital lobby, staring at the walls or the floor. He opens his mouth to say he’s sorry, that he should have been watching the kid more closely but Jean grabs his hand and squeezes it before he even gets a word out. There’s a reel in his head now, of Jim getting stabbed over and over and over.
“You’re the wife?” Finally, one of the doctor’s walks through the waiting room doors.
Jean stands and Pete stands with her. She nods. “I’m Jean Reed and this is Jim’s partner, Pete Malloy.”
He pushes up his sleeves, takes off his surgical cap. “He’s got a hell of a set of lungs. The blade winged him in his left lung, punctured his spleen.”
“How is he, doc?”
“Lucky,” he says.
He takes them both through the big, swinging doors to Jim’s room. Even from the door, he looks washed out and pale. “We repaired most of the damage. He needs a lot of rest, some time off his feet.”
They each take a side of the bed, and Jean, who hasn’t cried once, bursts into tears when Jim gives her a weak smile.
“Hey, partner.”
“Pete.”
“You did a good job, stopping that blade.”
Jim’s still pretty out of it and he looks between Jean and Pete, eyes glassy. “You’ll be alright, Jim.”
“Pete,” he says again and wiggles his fingers.
Pete squeezes his hand, holds it tight. On the other side, Jean kisses his forehead and the two of them don’t move for a long time.
***
Jim, by nature, errs on the side of cocky. It’s a real change then, to have him be quiet, cautious, still. The doc releases him after a few days, and Pete picks him up and drops him and Jean off at their house. He goes back to his own place, packs a bag, and drives right back over.
“Well, you got what you wanted Reed,” Pete says, dropping his bag in their guest room. “Looks like I may finally try out this bed I’ve been hearing so much about.”
“All it took were a few stab wounds,” Jim says, with a smile.
He can move slowly around the house, but still needs help getting up and down the stairs or lying down. Jean could manage on her own, but she knows Pete wouldn’t be anywhere else and Jim doesn’t want him anywhere else.
At night, they give Jim the pills that make him sleepy and he and Jean drink coffee over the kitchen table.
“Don’t let this tear you up, Pete,” Jean says. “I know what happened to your last partner. You know this isn’t the same.”
“I’m not letting it tear me up,” Pete says. “What I am doing is picking at in. Over and over again. I’m glad you weren’t there to see it.”
“Picking and worrying over things is Jim’s specialty. He’s gonna need you to put it out of your mind, so he can put it out of his.”
It was still too early for that. Jim’s stitches are still fresh, his posture stooped, and he grimaces more than he smiles.
“How’s he sleeping?” Pete says.
“Alright,” Jean said. “The pills help, but he wakes up sweating.” She takes a long swallow of her coffee and grasps for his hand. “Pete, I think maybe sometimes he wishes you were there. You can ignore a lot in the daytime, but it’s harder at night. I think one of us is sleeping in the wrong bed.”
Pete blushes deep and red. He’s right down the hall, but he can’t deny he feels the same urge, to pull Jim close, soothe him back down.
“We’re in a pickle aren’t we?’ Jean says.
For no reason, Pete’s eyes well up. He hasn’t shed a tear the entire time, but he finds his throat closing up with love and desire, frustration building. “I thought it would be enough, staying here. Funny how no matter how much you get, you always want more, huh.”
“That’s love, honey.”
***
He’s back on duty a few days later. He’s still got leave but he’s driving Jim crazy and Jean shoos him out of the house. “If you try to help him up the stairs one more time, I think he’s liable to grab a kitchen knife himself,” she says.
They partner him with Wells of all people and he comes home late at night with stories upon stories. Jean’s usually asleep, but Jim’s up every night waiting for him.
“What’d you catch?” Jim asks, after he warms up a plate of dinner for Pete.
“A couple ADWs, one 211. Kinda a quiet night.”
“How was Wells?”
“Same as always. Rushed into that 211 and immediately almost got his head blown off.”
“You be careful around him.”
“I am careful around him, partner.”
The word does something to Jim, who stares at the table for a moment too long. “Think they’ll keep you with Wells? I mean, once I get back. Think Sarge will throw me to someone else?”
“Do you want him too?”
“No!” Jim almost jumps out of his seat.
“Then no. We’re locked in, junior.”
There are nights he comes home too late for dinner and on those evenings, Jim is waiting up for him, laying on couch. Pete sits right next to him, tucks Jim’s feet under his thigh. Some nights they don’t talk about anything much at all, but Pete slips a hand under Jim’s pant leg, brushes lazily along his shin. He can feel Jim relax, his breathing slowing down.
“How you sleeping these days, Jim?”
“Fine,” Jim says. “Better if we’ve been talking.”
“This bothering you?” he asks, fingers lightly scratching up his leg.
“No,” he says. He opens his eyes, and goes still. After a minute, he shifts and rearranges himself with his head in Pete’s lap. “It’s doesn’t bother me,” he says.
Pete leans down, buries his nose in Jim’s hair. He trails his fingers up the strip of Jim’s stomach, touching the newly healed scars. “Jim.”
Jim takes his other hand, wraps it tight around his waist.
“How do you know, Jim,” Pete asks. “Who I love.”
“I know,” Jim says, curling their fingers together. Pete kisses the side of his face, lips touching the corner of his mouth. “I guess I’ve known for a long time.”