all, so those legal papers your friends draw up—they need to say that when I'm not here, you're the one who's my voice in this movie. You make sure they do right by everyone.” And Jim—as Jim was prone to do—didn't put up a fight or protest as his stomach did a roller-coaster bump.
* * * * *
Monday morning Jim was back at his desk, late for him. It was almost six a.m. He didn't remember sleeping all that much in the past thirty-six hours, except for a brief nap on Ed Kelly's couch. There was food interspersed in there and a shower before he headed into the station with a gallon or so of coffee in his gut. He figured he'd be good for ten-or-so hours—then he'd probably hit a wall and collapse in the break room.
The squad room was quiet; a few phones rang on and off, hushed conversations drifted above the cubicles. Jim checked his calendar and realized 26
Tere Michaels
two things—his birthday was two weeks away, and Captain Hedges's retirement was tomorrow.
Which meant ironing his dress blues.
And then spending the next two weeks avoiding any attempts by his friends to celebrate his birthday.
Jim sighed. Forty-five. Really? Already? The last birthday he recalled with any type of clarity was his twenty-first. His father gave him the legal papers to his grandfather's inheritance over a stiff, expensive meal at a French restaurant. Then his friends—mostly his compatriots on the football team and his roommate, whom he was also secretly dating—took him to Vegas for enough debauchery that even today he wondered if he should just arrest himself on several counts. Public drunkenness, gambling, and a lot of sex with his boyfriend in their hotel room when everyone else had gone off to find some hookers. God, that had been a great birthday because he was young and hot and rich, independent of his father, and didn't have a care in the world.
Forty-five looked incredibly different and very depressing.
“Hey, Detective Shea, there's a package for you down at the desk,” a uniformed cop walking by broke his reverie. “You want me to bring it up?”
“Is it ticking?” Jim was only half joking.
“No.” The young cop laughed, pausing to lean on the cubicle wall. He gave Jim a once-over and a more flirtatious smile, and Jim felt old . Older than dirt, actually. Back in his early uniform days, you'd never even consider flirting publicly with another cop—particularly not in the squad room. “It's not a problem, really.”
“It's okay, I'll get it.” Jim looked down at his desk, trying to shuffle papers in an attempt to look busy.
“All right. I'll talk to you later.” The cop lingered, then walked away slowly.
It was like a bar. Only fully lit and, you know, work . Jim's hands shook a little. His sexual orientation was generally known and generally not a problem.
Love & Loyalty
27
In liberal, godless Seattle, being a bigot or homophobe is what you held close to your chest—not being gay. All his partners had known; none had ever asked for a transfer. Terry Oh had been “schooled” on his first day and just politely assured Jim he was straight and engaged but would be flattered if Jim wanted to check him out when he wasn't looking. Everyone knew. But no one said anything. No one came on to him. He knew other gay and lesbian cops on the force; there were no meetings or weekly dinners where they had meaningful conversations on being gay and blue.
Jim didn't like to cross streams like that. He didn't like being hit on by a twentysomething who had no clue what it was like to be afraid.
He forgot to be flattered the guy was interested.
* * * * *
Terry arrived with yet another “mistake” onion bagel, plopping it on Jim's desk without a word.
“How'd the thing at Ed's go? You scare off the Hollywood freaks?” Terry sipped his latte, leaning against the cubicle wall exactly where the flirter had been.
“Actually…” Jim sighed, pushing his chair back and testing how far he could lean without
* * * * *
Monday morning Jim was back at his desk, late for him. It was almost six a.m. He didn't remember sleeping all that much in the past thirty-six hours, except for a brief nap on Ed Kelly's couch. There was food interspersed in there and a shower before he headed into the station with a gallon or so of coffee in his gut. He figured he'd be good for ten-or-so hours—then he'd probably hit a wall and collapse in the break room.
The squad room was quiet; a few phones rang on and off, hushed conversations drifted above the cubicles. Jim checked his calendar and realized 26
Tere Michaels
two things—his birthday was two weeks away, and Captain Hedges's retirement was tomorrow.
Which meant ironing his dress blues.
And then spending the next two weeks avoiding any attempts by his friends to celebrate his birthday.
Jim sighed. Forty-five. Really? Already? The last birthday he recalled with any type of clarity was his twenty-first. His father gave him the legal papers to his grandfather's inheritance over a stiff, expensive meal at a French restaurant. Then his friends—mostly his compatriots on the football team and his roommate, whom he was also secretly dating—took him to Vegas for enough debauchery that even today he wondered if he should just arrest himself on several counts. Public drunkenness, gambling, and a lot of sex with his boyfriend in their hotel room when everyone else had gone off to find some hookers. God, that had been a great birthday because he was young and hot and rich, independent of his father, and didn't have a care in the world.
Forty-five looked incredibly different and very depressing.
“Hey, Detective Shea, there's a package for you down at the desk,” a uniformed cop walking by broke his reverie. “You want me to bring it up?”
“Is it ticking?” Jim was only half joking.
“No.” The young cop laughed, pausing to lean on the cubicle wall. He gave Jim a once-over and a more flirtatious smile, and Jim felt old . Older than dirt, actually. Back in his early uniform days, you'd never even consider flirting publicly with another cop—particularly not in the squad room. “It's not a problem, really.”
“It's okay, I'll get it.” Jim looked down at his desk, trying to shuffle papers in an attempt to look busy.
“All right. I'll talk to you later.” The cop lingered, then walked away slowly.
It was like a bar. Only fully lit and, you know, work . Jim's hands shook a little. His sexual orientation was generally known and generally not a problem.
Love & Loyalty
27
In liberal, godless Seattle, being a bigot or homophobe is what you held close to your chest—not being gay. All his partners had known; none had ever asked for a transfer. Terry Oh had been “schooled” on his first day and just politely assured Jim he was straight and engaged but would be flattered if Jim wanted to check him out when he wasn't looking. Everyone knew. But no one said anything. No one came on to him. He knew other gay and lesbian cops on the force; there were no meetings or weekly dinners where they had meaningful conversations on being gay and blue.
Jim didn't like to cross streams like that. He didn't like being hit on by a twentysomething who had no clue what it was like to be afraid.
He forgot to be flattered the guy was interested.
* * * * *
Terry arrived with yet another “mistake” onion bagel, plopping it on Jim's desk without a word.
“How'd the thing at Ed's go? You scare off the Hollywood freaks?” Terry sipped his latte, leaning against the cubicle wall exactly where the flirter had been.
“Actually…” Jim sighed, pushing his chair back and testing how far he could lean without
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