Brutus carefully stretched, taking care to not put strain on his broken ribs. He signed off on the maintenance checks and nodded at Wolfe. “The bus looks good.”

“Yep.” Wolfe gave the hood of their ambulance an affectionate pat. “Let’s turn this paperwork in and go on break.”

They left the garage and entered the station house. Captain Stewart stepped into the hall and fixed Brutus with a hard stare. “My office,” he said.

Brutus’s heart sank, but he nodded.

“Catch you in the lounge,” Wolfe said, keeping almost all his pity from his voice.

Brutus nodded again and followed the captain to his office.

“Close the door,” the captain said, settling into his chair behind his desk. “Have a seat.”

Brutus sat straight, his hands palm down on his knees, and waited for the lecture.

The captain started out mildly. “This is your first day back on the job for a week. How’s it going?”

“Good.”

Stewart nodded, seeming to examine Brutus’s facial injuries. “According to the medicals, you are restricted to light duty for at least another week due to broken ribs.”

Evidently, he wanted an answer. “Yes, sir,” Brutus said.

“Broken ribs sustained not in the line of duty.” The mildness was wearing away. The captain didn’t raise his voice, but it gained a razor-sharp edge. “No, you were injured in a barroom brawl.” Stewart drummed his fingers on his desk. “I can’t have my people down for stupid reasons like that. You’re not riding a desk in some advertising agency’s office. You know the people of Dallas depend on us to help them in emergencies.”

“Yes, sir.”

“This has been a recurring issue. This is the first time a fight has prevented you from carrying out your duties, but you’ve come in multiple times with bruises and lacerations. I want it to stop.”

Brutus swallowed, but the captain went on before he could speak.

“I’m recommending you see the department’s counselor.”

Brutus’s stomach sank down to his shoes and them flung itself up to his throat. “Sir,” he began, but Stewart help up his hand.

“Hear me out, Gunnison. You are one of my top people, but you are worthless to me if I can’t depend on you. You need to speak to a professional to get a handle on your temper. If not the department’s counselor, then your clergyman, if you have one.”

“My girlfriend agrees.” Brutus swallowed heavily. “We discussed this. She suggested I see a military chaplain.”

Stewart nodded brusquely. “Good enough. Get it done, Gunnison. If this happens again, you may be looking for another job. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Brutus felt strangely hollow when he entered the lounge. Wolfe sat at one of the small tables in the corner, an advanced game of solitaire spread in front of him. Brutus headed toward him, but detoured to grab a cup of coffee before joining his buddy.

Wolfe looked up with one eyebrow raised when Brutus took the opposite chair. “So, how did that go?”

“It sucked. The captain is royally pissed.”

Wolfe flipped a card over and grunted. “Can’t blame him.”

Brutus put his coffee on the table with more force than he’d intended. “Listen, Wolfe, I don’t need crap from you too.”

“Sorry.” Wolfe collected the cards and began shuffling. “Poker?”

“Sure.”

While his buddy shuffled and dealt, Brutus got up and fetched a bowl of pretzels, their traditional betting currency. He looked his cards over and discarded two. “I’ll take two.”

Wolfe passed him a couple of cards. “Your eyes are looking, uh, even more colorful today.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

It was true. In the past week his eyes had gone from black and blue to purple and red. His nose was almost normal now, so he was on the mend. Carrying any heavy weight was impossible with his ribs, though, so he was still on light duty.

“It’s not your best look. You gonna fold?”

“No.” He tossed a couple of pretzels on the table. “I’m in.”

They played in silence for several minutes before Wolfe spoke. “How long are you on the bench?”

Brutus immediately regretted the shrug. “Another week.”

“What exactly did the captain say?”

“If it happens again I’m canned.”

“Damn.”

Brutus forced himself to relax his grip on his cards. “I know. And he wants me to see a shrink.”

Wolfe’s eyes said he knew how Brutus felt about that, but mercifully he didn’t comment on the shrink. “Maybe you should ease up on the fighting.”

“I already promised Dee I would.”

“That’s good.” Wolfe added a few more pretzels to the pile. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ve been worried about you.”

Brutus rolled his eyes and hissed at the pain. “Don’t get your panties in a bunch, mom.”

Wolfe chuckled. “Okay, son.”

Brutus lost that hand, won the next, and came out two pretzels ahead. “Dee means that much to me. I’ll quit fighting if it makes her happy. Hell, I think I might love her.”

“You sound like a man facing a firing squad. I thought being in love was supposed to make a man happy.”

Brutus snorted, and winced. “Real funny, Wolfe.”

Wolfe gathered up his winnings, popping one pretzel into his mouth, before dealing the next hand. “Yeah, I’m a comedian. So, you going to see someone?”

Brutus hunched over his cards. “I’ll think about it.”

He did think about it. Once he was home after his shift, he got online and looked up Colonel Flowers. He held his phone for long minutes, staring at the screen before, slowly, reluctantly, tapping the number listed. It rang. It rang again. Brutus stroked Rowdy’s head. A woman answered.

“Hello,” she said cheerily. “Flowers residence.”

Brutus froze, hand clamped over one of Rowdy’s ears.

“Hello?” said the woman again.

It was a struggle to breathe. Rowdy’s whine jerked him out of his funk. He let go of Rowdy and hung up. He sat for a minute, panting for breath. He was not a coward. He just didn’t want to talk to some stranger who would try to drag all the most horrible memories of Iraq out of him. It wasn’t necessary. As long as he kept out of bars, he would be alright.

Denise thought everyone could be fixed by talking to a shrink. Well, sure, that’s what she was going to school for. But he didn’t need to be fixed. He just needed to make a couple minor changes to his life and it would be good.

Over the next few weeks, Brutus was careful to avoid any situation that would put him in a position where he would fight. The only bar he went to was Billie’s, and only with Denise. It worked--he didn’t get in another fight. Denise was happy, so he was happy. Mostly. The only problem he had was that he was having symptoms that were worryingly like withdrawal. His hands had an annoying tendency tremble at odd times. He was restless and couldn’t focus, even when doing things he enjoyed. If Denise wasn’t with him, he couldn’t sleep. His temper frayed to the point that he snapped at Wolfe and even Denise. He’d never heard that fighting could be an addiction. Alcohol, yeah. cigarettes, sure. Drugs, absolutely. Well, Brutus told himself stoutly, even if fighting was an addiction, he could beat it. He just had to stick it out.

One night after they had made love, Denise asked if he had contacted Colonel Flowers.

“I called him,” he replied truthfully, and hurried to head off further questions . “Have you heard anything definite about when Stella’s dad is coming?”

“He’s flying in on the night before Thanksgiving. I’m leaving for home that afternoon.” She tucked her head on his shoulder. “With any luck he’ll be gone before I have to come back to Dallas for work.”

“How much do you know about him?”

“More than I need to.” She seemed to regret her harsh tone. “I got most of the details I know from my uncles. Mom never said much, just that he lied to her right from the start. Uncle Rob said the asshole never actually said he wasn’t married, but since they were having sex, Mom just figured he was single. She fell hard for him. She fell so hard that she didn’t even notice all the little signs that he was a liar.” She pressed a kiss to the side of his neck. “I’m glad I have you.”

Heat crept up Brutus’s face. “I’m not perfect,” he warned her.

“No, I don’t suppose anyone is. But you told me almost three weeks ago that you wouldn’t fight anymore, and I haven’t seen a new bruise on you since.” She kissed him again. “You’re not like the asshole. I can trust you.”

Feeling like a heel, he kissed her back.

Everything was going great until the Tuesday before Thanksgiving. After a shift that had gone too long because of an accident that left a little boy with a crushed spinal column, Brutus couldn’t face going home. That poor kid would probably never walk again, and there was nothing he could do about it. Denise was in class, and then she had to work, so he couldn’t go to her for comfort. Wolfe thumped a fist into his shoulder.

“Come on, I’ll buy you a drink.”

The eagerness that leaped inside of Brutus shocked him. A month ago, he would have gone out and found a fight. His promise to Denise barely leashed the wild need to vent the anger clawing at his insides.

“Sure. Billie’s?” It was late afternoon, so only the regulars would be there, people like Dale Greenway, who wouldn’t piss him off.

Wolfe gave him a thumbs up. “Meet you there.”

Billie’s was quiet, with half a dozen guys at the bar, a few more shooting pool in the back, and a trio of older ladies at a table. Big Joe was tending bar when Brutus and Wolfe came in. He got them a couple of beers, and they headed back to one of the pool tables. One of the other pool players was that mouthy little bastard he had tangled with the first night he’d seen Denise. What stupid name did he call himself? Slim Jim. Right. Brutus firmly turned his back on him and let Wolfe rack up.

They played the first game in companionable near-silence. They spoke only to call a shot or rib each other over a miss. Brutus felt the muscles in his shoulders start to unkink. He lost the first game by a mile, and looked to lose the second game too, so he tipped his bottle to his lips, drank, and as Wolfe lined up his shot, he drawled in the most annoying voice he could muster. “So, you found another girlfriend yet?”

His attempt at distraction didn’t work. Wolfe sank his ball and straightened from the table with one eyebrow hooked up. “I’ve met a couple women. I’ll be seeing Shawnda again after Thanksgiving.”

Brutus watched him bend to line up his next shot. “So, who’s Shawnda? Another model? An actress?”

“She’s last year’s the third runner up to Miss Texas.”

“Well, hell.” Brutus marveled at his buddy’s luck with women. “A beauty queen. Can you beat that?”

Finally, Wolfe missed a shot. It didn’t seem to bother him. Just as Brutus was about to tap the cue ball with his cue, Wolfe asked, “Would you trade Denise for Miss Texas?”

Damn it. Brutus watched his ball spin off the bumper nowhere near the pocket. “Miss Texas? Hell, no. Denise is the one for me.” He shifted his weight. “I’m going to ask her to marry me.”

A huge grin split Wolfe’s face. “That’s fantastic. Congrats.” Wolfe jabbed a punch to his upper arm that Brutus barely felt. “You’re the lucky one, Gunnison. You managed to find the perfect woman, and you weren’t even looking.”

“I was lucky, all right. I don’t deserve her. Denise is …” He fumbled for the right word. “She’s fun, and she loves baseball, and she works hard, and she … She…”

“She’s the right one. She cares about you in a way that no other woman ever will.” There was an oddly wistful tone in Wolfe’s voice. “Some of us spend our whole lives looking without ever finding the right one.”

Discomfort inched up Brutus’s spine. “You’ll find the right one someday.” He waved at the table. “Your shot.”

He stepped back to give Wolfe some room and bumped into another body. He half-turned, saying automatically, “Excuse me.”

It was the rat bastard. He stared at Brutus with his eyebrows pulled low, but Brutus turned back to watch Wolfe call his shot. Fingers jabbed into his side.

“Hey,” the bastard said loudly. “You stepped on my toes.”

Something hot and eager glided through Brutus’s veins. He took a careful breath and let it out. “Sorry,” he said, and moved a couple of steps away.

The kid followed him. “I said you stepped on my toes.”

Brutus stopped, all two hundred and forty pounds of him fighting for control. “And I said I was sorry,” he snapped.

Wolfe abandoned his shot to come around the table. He came to Slim Jim’s side with a friendly smile. “My buddy can sure be like a bull in a china shop,” he said sympathetically. “But no harm done, right? Go finish your game.”

It looked like the kid would, and Brutus let out a relieved breath. “Thanks, Wolfe. Denise would sure be disappointed in me if I broke my promise not to fight.”

Slim Jim swung back around, a sneer pulling the corner of his mouth up to show off yellow teeth. “Denise? Is that the chick I’ve seen you with in here? The brown-haired bitch with the flat tits?”

Brutus’s hand clenched, white-knuckled, on his pool cue. He tried to sound polite, but his voice strained through tight teeth, not sounding as courteous as he’d intended. “That was a private conversation.” He turned his head to Wolfe. “I think we better leave.”

“Right,” Wolfe said, starting for the rack to put up his pool cue. But his eyes widened, and he lunged back.

Not in time. The side of Brutus’s head took the brunt of the pool cue Slim Jim slammed against it. He pitched into the pool table, pain screaming through him. He heard the kid laughing, saying something about the bigger they are, the harder they fall. At first, Brutus was too confused by pain to take much in, but the next words came through loud and clear.

“Your bitch Denise turned you into a pussy.” Slim Jim’s high-pitched giggle scraped down Brutus’s nerves like fingernails on a chalk board. “You do whatever she says, don’t you? I’ll find her and show her how a real man treats his bitch.”

Brutus’s head came up, his promise to Denise smothered under a tsunami of outrage and fear. With a roar, he launched himself at the bastard.

 

Denise unlocked her car door, exhausted after a long day. In addition to the usual dogs puking and peeing on her, there had also been a vicious fight between a new Doberman mix and Banner, one of the longtime residents of the shelter, that she’d had to break up. Even that hadn’t completely driven the thought of her sperm donor and his impending visit from her mind. She was utterly exhausted. Brutus would be off work by now, but they had decided to not get together tonight so she could concentrate on school. Dang it. Maybe she should call him and see if he could come over for supper at least.

As she opened the door, her phone rang. She slid behind the wheel and grabbed her phone. She didn’t recognize the number. “Hello,” she barked, ready to hang up.

“Denise? This is Dusty Wolfe. Brutus’s partner.”

“Oh. Hi, Dusty.”

“Hey.” It sounded like Dusty was clearing his throat. In fact, he sounded nervous. “Can you come to Cornerstone?”

Denise paused, her key hovering in front of the ignition. “The hospital?”

“Yeah. There’s been an incident. Brutus is hurt. He asked me to call you.”

“Oh, my God.” She shoved the key in and turned it. The engine roared, so she raised her voice to be heard over it. “Was it a fire? Was he hurt on the job?” Her voice sank. “Is it bad?”

“No, not too bad. Just a lot of bruising, a hairline fracture of his skull, and some stitches. He’ll be okay. They are keeping him here overnight but just for observation. We’ll tell you all about it when you get here.”

“I’m on my way.”

She tore out of the shelter’s parking lot. A dozen possible scenarios went through her mind as she drove to the hospital. Was he rescuing someone when the building collapsed? Had he been buried under rubble? She slid into the first parking spot she saw and rushed to the hospital entrance.

“I’m looking for Brutus Gunnison?”

“One moment.” The lady tapped at a keyboard for a few seconds. “Mr. Gunnison is in room 220 on the second floor. Just follow the blue stripe on the floor and you’ll find the elevator. Have a nice day.”

Denise wouldn’t describe today as nice, but she smiled and thanked the woman before hurrying along. Denise paused just outside the open door of room 220 to catch her breath. She could see Dusty in a gray sweatshirt and worn jeans standing to one side of the bed, a troubled frown on his face. A man in a traditional white lab coat stood at the foot of the bed, his back to her, blocking her view of Brutus and speaking quietly.

“Mr. Gunnison,” he said, “you were very lucky. A skull fracture, even one as slight as this, could do lasting neurological damage. Fortunately for you, the blow did not result in a depression of the skull. This could have been much worse.”

In the hall, Denise squeezed her eyes shut to hold back tears of relief.

“But you will require some medical leave. You’ll need time to heal before you can go back to work. The paperwork must be submitted to your captain.”

Brutus’s voice rumbled. “Aw, doc, do you have to? I just went back to full duty a couple of weeks ago. Maybe I could just use a couple weeks of vacation time.”

Dusty shifted his weight. “I know you have the time, but taking two or three weeks around the holidays? The captain won’t go for that.”

“Stewart’s going to kill me.” Brutus sounded miserable. “Please, Doc, let me talk to him first.”

The doctor’s shoulders slumped. “Brutus, you got into another fight, even after you were specifically warned about it. Worse, you haven’t been to counseling as ordered.”

Denise’s sharp gasp turned the doctor around. He smiled at her and stepped forward with his hand outstretched. “Hello, you must be Denise. I’m John Bell.”

Denise shook his hand automatically, but her eyes were fixed on Brutus lying in the bed. He looked awful. His short brown hair had been shaved away on one side of his head, and a square white bandage was taped there. His battered face was a variety of colors. Horror and betrayal struggled with pity and hope inside her.

“A fight?” she demanded, dropping the doctor’s hand and marching on the bed. She waved a hand at him. “Not a work-related accident? This is because you were in a fight?”

He reminded her right then of little Sailor, the puppy who had been beaten so often in his short life that he cringed at a single harsh word. “I couldn’t help it,” he croaked.

“Really? Where was this fight?”

“Billie’s. Me and Wolfe went over there after work.”

“I talked him into it,” Dusty put in quickly.

Denise didn’t look at Dusty, just stared with clenched teeth at Brutus.

“And this little assw … Er, fella kept digging at me,” Brutus said.

Her heart was barely holding together, trembling under the pressure of betrayal. “You promised me you wouldn’t fight anymore,” she accused.

“I know.” Brutus reached a bloody knuckled hand toward her. “I’m sorry.”

She stepped back. “You should have walked away.”

“I tried!”

“He did,” Dusty confirmed. “He said, ‘Let’s go’, and that’s when—”

Denise cut him off with a slash of her hand. “And you lied to me. You lied to me, Brutus.”

“No, Dee.”

“You did. Or are you seeing a professional therapist?”

“I never actually said I was.” He gestured with the arm that wasn’t hooked up to an IV. “That’s not the way I do things. So I let you think what made you feel better.”

“How noble.” Denise felt the first big crack jolt through her heart. “You lied to me, Brutus.”

He glanced away toward Dusty. “Could you give us some space?”

Dusty murmured something, and he and the doctor left, closing the door behind them.

Brutus opened his mouth and closed it several times. “I’m sorry, Dee.”

“Are you even talking to Dusty? You said you would.”

“Sure, we talk all the time.”

“About anything important? Anything that would keep you from fighting?”

Brutus tried to sit up. “I don’t need to,” he snapped. “I haven’t had a fight in weeks. I wouldn’t have this one except I couldn’t avoid it after that punk knocked me upside the head with his pool que.”

“Talking to someone would help you. This need to fight is pathological. But if you don’t want to, you should have just said so instead of leading me on.”

Brutus folded his arms. He shot a scowl at the IV when the tubing pulled, then transferred it to her. “Are you talking to someone?”

Her back went up. “For what?”

“Your dislike of your dad is pathological.”

Something sharp and jagged burst in her throat. “He is not my dad,” she screamed.

He shook his head with obvious disbelief. “Listen to yourself. You’re out of control as far as he is concerned. And what about Stella? Does your mom know your sister is staying with you yet? Or is it okay for you to hide the truth, but the rest of us have to inform you of every little detail?” He snorted. “You think talking to someone will help? Then you should go talk to someone, Denise. Unless you like being a hypocrite?”

Hypocrite? Her nostrils flared. “We’re not talking about me here, Brutus.” She was proud of herself for sounding calm. “We’re talking about you. You lied.” She shook her head, feeling as battered as he looked. “I can’t do it. I can’t be with a man I can’t trust. I can’t let myself go through this anymore.” She pulled her keys out of her pocket, located his house key, and twisted it off. She set it down, very gently, on the bedside table. She forced herself to look into Brutus’s bruised eyes. “You can throw my toothbrush and other stuff away. Goodbye, Brutus.”

“Dee!”

She heard the bed squeak and something rattle. Probably Brutus, trying to come after her. She turned in the hall to look back at the bed. Both the doctor and Dusty rushed past her to pin Brutus down.

“Dee!” he shouted again. “I tried to avoid the fight. I swear I did.”

“You lied to me.”

He managed to angle his head up to look at her. “I fucked up once, Dee. Just once, and you decide it’s over?”

She shook her head sadly. “How many fuck ups do you think you get before you break my heart?”

She made it to the elevator before Dusty caught up with her. “Denise, you’re hurt right now, but give it some time. Gunnison deserves a break. He really did try to leave before that guy took a swing at him.”

“You don’t get it either.” She looked straight ahead at the closed doors of the elevator. “It must be a man thing, so let me make it perfectly plain to you. Don’t lie to a woman. You’ll both be happier if you are completely honest.”

Dusty pushed his fingers through his hair. “It takes a cold-hearted woman to walk out on a man while he’s lying in a hospital bed with a fractured skull.”

That almost made her waver. The elevator dinged and opened. Saved by the bell. She walked in and stabbed the button for the lobby. The doors slid closed on Dusty’s angry face. Despite her best efforts, tears escaped. She pretended not to see anyone as she walked out of the hospital to her car. She was probably not the only person who’d been crying at the hospital. People often wept when loved ones were sick or hurt.

She got in to her car, locked the car doors, leaned her forehead on the steering wheel, and cried like a baby. Or a woman mourning the loss of the man she loved.