Bryan Monroe has always catalogued his life in terms of moments—right moments, wrong moments, perfect moments. But when his best friend and partner on the police force, Chrys Delos, is shot in a raid gone bad, it’s one of the worst moments of Bryan’s life.
Bryan’s been secretly in love with Chrys for years, and the shooting is a wake-up call that it might be time to tell Chrys the truth. The problem is, Bryan’s never been with a man before, so in addition to worrying about Chrys’ injuries, he’s an indecisive wreck over the future.
But with the help of two unlikely matchmakers, Bryan knows it’s time to find the courage, and the perfect moment, to tell Chrys exactly how he feels...
Genres: Gay/Contemporary
Heat Level: 2
Length: Novella (26k words)
Length: Novella (26k words)
Read a short excerpt...
...Overwhelming emotion held him hostage as he leaned over Chrys’ shuddering body.
“Where’s the fucking bus?” Bryan shifted his position so his captain could adjust the torn shirt he was pressing to Chrys’ shoulder, tipping back his head to shout orders as he did so. “Get the goddamn ambulance!”
Bryan found his voice, a mere squeak compared to John Stanton’s shouting growl. “The perp…”
“Mills took him down. He’s alive but unconscious—lucky bastard, as far as I’m concerned. Are you hurt, Monroe?”
Bryan shook his head. He loosened his grip on Chrys’ hand, moving his own to rub lightly over his partner’s cheek. “Chrys? You’re okay, man. Can you hear me? Open your eyes, partner. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Chrys breathed loudly through his nose, opening moist brown eyes to stare up at Bryan. “Did he…anyone else hurt?”
“No, just the dumbass I’m talking to. Dammit, Chrys. What the fuck were you—”
“I need you to move out of the way, sir.” An EMT laid a gentle but firm hand on Bryan’s shoulder, and someone else seized him under the arm, forcing him to his feet. “Are you hurt, sir? I can get Fran to take a look at you.”
“No. No. I’m fine. Just take care of Chrys.”
John was immediately at Bryan’s side when he stumbled backward. He wrapped an arm around Bryan’s shoulders, leading him through the broken door and out into the crisp morning. “I’m taking you to the other bus to get checked over. He landed pretty hard on you.”
“I said I was fine!” There was too much going on, too many things bouncing around in Bryan’s brain. “Sorry, Cap. I just, I think I need to sit down.”
He was quickly escorted to one of the ambulances, perching his backside on the edge of the tailgate, both hands flattened against the cool metal. How many times did he have to go through this with Chrys? Just how many goddamn times would it take for his partner to gain some control and lose his lone wolf attitude? This time was the worst. He hadn’t given himself over to the gunman to save a hostage or a child; instead he’d stepped in front of a bullet that Bryan hadn’t even known was coming. Dammit, Chrys, you’ll be the death of me yet. How ironic was that?
The trip to the hospital took forever, or it sure seemed like it from behind the vehicle holding such precious cargo. Bryan rode in his captain’s car, John speaking loudly into the hands-free cellphone on the dash. He barked out orders to the others on the team, instructing them to take charge, to push back the group of civilians who were rubbernecking to see what was happening. Bryan sat still, quiet, his hands fisted around the helmet in his lap.
The whole day would be filed under perfectly fucking awful...
“Where’s the fucking bus?” Bryan shifted his position so his captain could adjust the torn shirt he was pressing to Chrys’ shoulder, tipping back his head to shout orders as he did so. “Get the goddamn ambulance!”
Bryan found his voice, a mere squeak compared to John Stanton’s shouting growl. “The perp…”
“Mills took him down. He’s alive but unconscious—lucky bastard, as far as I’m concerned. Are you hurt, Monroe?”
Bryan shook his head. He loosened his grip on Chrys’ hand, moving his own to rub lightly over his partner’s cheek. “Chrys? You’re okay, man. Can you hear me? Open your eyes, partner. Are you hurt anywhere else?”
Chrys breathed loudly through his nose, opening moist brown eyes to stare up at Bryan. “Did he…anyone else hurt?”
“No, just the dumbass I’m talking to. Dammit, Chrys. What the fuck were you—”
“I need you to move out of the way, sir.” An EMT laid a gentle but firm hand on Bryan’s shoulder, and someone else seized him under the arm, forcing him to his feet. “Are you hurt, sir? I can get Fran to take a look at you.”
“No. No. I’m fine. Just take care of Chrys.”
John was immediately at Bryan’s side when he stumbled backward. He wrapped an arm around Bryan’s shoulders, leading him through the broken door and out into the crisp morning. “I’m taking you to the other bus to get checked over. He landed pretty hard on you.”
“I said I was fine!” There was too much going on, too many things bouncing around in Bryan’s brain. “Sorry, Cap. I just, I think I need to sit down.”
He was quickly escorted to one of the ambulances, perching his backside on the edge of the tailgate, both hands flattened against the cool metal. How many times did he have to go through this with Chrys? Just how many goddamn times would it take for his partner to gain some control and lose his lone wolf attitude? This time was the worst. He hadn’t given himself over to the gunman to save a hostage or a child; instead he’d stepped in front of a bullet that Bryan hadn’t even known was coming. Dammit, Chrys, you’ll be the death of me yet. How ironic was that?
The trip to the hospital took forever, or it sure seemed like it from behind the vehicle holding such precious cargo. Bryan rode in his captain’s car, John speaking loudly into the hands-free cellphone on the dash. He barked out orders to the others on the team, instructing them to take charge, to push back the group of civilians who were rubbernecking to see what was happening. Bryan sat still, quiet, his hands fisted around the helmet in his lap.
The whole day would be filed under perfectly fucking awful...
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