"Oh man," Van said, taking a drink of his soda.  "You're lucky to be an only child.  I'm the oldest of six."

Eli smiled across the table at him.  "That sounds like it would be hectic."  They were seated in the back of the restaurant at a little table for two, their knees knocking together.

Van had to admit that the restaurant was nice.  There was just enough mood lighting to avoid eye strain while still being romantic.  The food was to die for, too.  He'd had a steak the size of his head, and he wasn't sure he was going to finish it.

He nodded.  "You have no idea.  My little brother is the biggest troublemaker in the world."

"In the whole world?" Eli commented, one eyebrow raised skeptically.

Van nodded, his face set in exasperated lines.  "We have a schedule.  I'm not on for another two weeks, thank God, because he's due for another 'incident'."

Eli laughed.  "I'm not sure my mom could have handled anything else.  She worked two jobs to get me through school."

"That's tough," Van said.  "I bet she's not working two jobs now."

"She died a couple years ago."  Smiling tightly, Eli shrugged.  "I bought her this enormous house with my first big win though.  She hated it.  She'd call me up and tell me how impossible it was to keep clean, even with two cleaning ladies."

Van frowned, reaching across the table to take Eli's hand in his.  "I'm sorry."

Eli shrugged again, his throat working.  "She just wore out, you know?"

They were quiet for a long time, each of them picking at their food.  Van dug around for something to say but kept coming up blank.  Eli stared off into the distance, not pulling away from Van's hand.

"Didn't mean to get so heavy," Eli said eventually, sitting up and sliding his fingers out from under Van's.  "Sorry to spoil the mood."

"Oh, so there's a mood?" Van asked, smiling when Eli rolled his eyes.  "You're welcome to my papa," he added, pulling his hand back to his side of the table.  "You'd think, with all the kids, he'd be too busy to stick his nose into our business, but he finds the time."

"What do your parents do?"  Eli was staring at his plate, not looking terribly interested, for which Van was grateful.

"Papa's an artist.  One of the eccentric types.  His paintings are genius though, and he's a big deal in the art world."  Van cleared his throat and tried to decide how to describe his other parent.  "Dad is...  Dad's a musician," he said finally.  Tensing a little when Eli glanced up, he continued, "They both have a terrible habit of getting so involved in things that they forget that anything else exists.  Match made in heaven."

Eli grinned.  "That must have been an interesting childhood."

Some of the tension slid out of Van's back, and he laughed.  "The paint everywhere isn't bad.  It's the constant moving that I hated.  I settled in pretty hard once I got out of college because we grew up moving around so much.  Solomon is worse.  He doesn't even like to travel."

"I can understand that.  I grew up in whatever apartment we could afford at the time."  He glanced at Van through his lashes, then looked away.  "I haven't had a permanent place since I sold Mom's house.  The organization houses me for the fights as part of my contract, and I rent a place for training in New York every year."

Van resisted the urge to pat his hand again.  "There's nothing wrong with that if it's what you want.  My sister travels around the world doing lectures, and she loves it."

"Yeah."  Eli popped his last piece of steak into his mouth, and they chewed in silence.  "What do your parents think of your job?" he asked before it could become awkward.

Van laughed.  "We all have 'sensible' jobs, except my two youngest brothers.  Ben's still in college though, so I don't think he counts.  I don't think Papa understands, exactly, but he's always supported us."

"That sounds nice."

"What about your mom?"  Van leaned forward, bumping his knees against Eli's until the boxer looked up.  "Did she go to your fights?"

"Yeah," Eli said with a smile big enough to flash his dimples.  "Even when I was just in the youth league, she'd come and sit ringside.  Sometimes I think the guys were more afraid of her than they were of me."

"She sounds like a great lady."  Van swallowed hard.  He wanted to memorize the way Eli looked at that moment, with love shining in his eyes.  It was like an old masterpiece come to life.

"She was."  Eli cleared his throat and glanced at his empty plate.  "Did you want to get dessert?" he asked, glancing at Van with a tentative smile.

"I'd love to.  What's good here?"

Eli leaned forward, resting his hands on the table an inch from Van's.  "There's cake, of course, but they have a really great pastry chef who..."  His eyes slid to something behind Van, widening just as a flash went off.

"Eli, Constance Ramos with Action 6 News.  We met last week at your press conference."  A woman in a very professional suit walked right up to their table, drawing startled looks from the other diners.  "You said in that interview that you weren't seeing anyone.  Is this new?"  She stuck her hand out, extending a blinking recording device.

"No comment," Eli said, getting to his feet.

There was a man in an expensive suit headed their way, two waiters flanking him.  She didn't seem to notice.

"Sir, what's your name?  How long have you been dating the Champ?"  She turned the recorder on him, catching him on the chin with one corner as he got up.  "How do you feel about him denying your relationship?"

"No comment."  Van remembered the advice that Lion's PR agent gave the family every time the media thought it would be fun to stalk them when he screwed up.  'Don't give them anything.  Not even a frown.  They'll twist it around until you're convinced you did something awful.'

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, Ma'am," the man in the suit said as he walked up.  "You're disturbing the guests."

She ignored him entirely.  "How will your relationship affect your upcoming fights?" she asked, switching back to Eli.  "Why haven't you wanted to talk about your boyfriend?  Is there trouble in paradise?"  Eli stalked past her, and she stumbled as she turned to follow, grinding her heel into the top of Van's foot.

"Son of a...  Back up, lady."  He hurried after Eli, finding the other man stalled by the hostess stand, a crowd of four or five reporters swarming him.

"Eli, are you ashamed of your boyfriend?  Why did you deny your relationship?  Has there been conflict from the Championship organizers?"  The reporters had cameras and microphones stuck in Eli's face, sometimes literally as they jockeyed for position.  When they saw Van coming up behind him, they turned and blinded him with a dozen flashes.

Feeling hands at his hip, he brought his fist down hard, just quick enough to keep them from stealing his phone.  "Back off," he growled.  Something caught him hard across the cheek, more flashes going off as the metallic taste of blood spread across his tongue.  "Back off," he repeated, pulling his badge, "or every one of you will be down at the station for assaulting a police officer."

"Does your position in the force make it difficult for you to acknowledge your relationship with Eli?" someone asked, the crowd pressing closer.

"We're not dating," Eli said flatly from nearby.  One big hand hooked around Van's arm, and he let him pull them through the crowd.

"Eli, how does it feel to watch your lover head into danger and have to stay his dirty little secret?"

"Jesus, you people don't let up," Van said, cursing as someone elbowed him in the ribs.

"You looked pretty cozy, Eli."

"Officer, are you willing to lie for him and corroborate his story?"

Eli slowed, then came to a stop.  Van's eyes were starting to clear, and he could see that they were only a few feet from the elevator bank, but the reporters had stopped giving ground.  Hoping to herd them away, they were purposely blocking them from heading in that direction.  As he watched, a group of casino security appeared around a corner.  They'd attracted quite a crowd though, and it was going to be a few minutes before the way could be cleared.

"Eli, does your reluctance to announce your relationship have anything to do with Richard Blake fighting in the finals?"

"Are you trying to get pregnant, Eli?  Is it safe for an omega in a committed relationship to be involved in such a violent sport?"

The grip on Van's arm tightened until he knew he'd have bruises tomorrow.  Eli didn't seem to notice, staring over the reporter's heads with his jaw twitching.

"My name is Sgt. Van Harris," Van said, squaring his shoulders.  "I'm a member of the LVPD assigned to Mr. Thompson's protection detail."  He smiled without amusement as the reporters backed up a few inches.  "We are not dating.  However, the LVPD has a zero tolerance policy for harassment of any kind, including, but not limited to: gender, race, sexuality and partner status.  I can only assume that this is the same for the National Boxing Organization."

"Sgt. Harris, what do you think of being assigned to protect an omega?"

"As I just said," he replied, through his teeth, "the LVPD sees everyone as equal.  Now, if you'll excuse me, I believe I see Mr. Thompson's publicist headed this way.  I'm sure she'll be happy to answer any questions you have."

"I will indeed," Kim said as she appeared at their side, a host of security in her wake.  Her smile was as friendly as a shark's.  The reporters looked around nervously, and that distraction was enough to let them escape into an elevator.

"I hate reporters," Van said, collapsing back against the polished wall.  Eli didn't say a word.  "You okay?"

Eli nodded, his shoulders still tight.  "Sorry about that."

"It's okay.  I was kidding when I said my brother was a troublemaker."  Van smiled when Eli shot him a skeptical glance.  "No, really.  This one time he got arrested for swimming naked in the fountain at Cannes, and Amy had to fly all the way over there to pick him up.  I am not comfortable with the amount of my brother that was plastered all over the internet for weeks."

"That doesn't sound like a thing that happens to anyone but movie stars," Eli said with a frown.  The tension was slowly draining out of his shoulders though, and Van counted that a win.

"That's because it doesn't," he said, stepping out of the elevator to the peace and quiet of the penthouse floor.  "My little brother is Lion Lee."

Eli paused in the act of opening the door, eyes narrowed.  After a moment, he laughed.  "I almost believed you."

Van just smiled.  "Impressed enough to invite me in for drinks?"

"If it was true, maybe," Eli said.  "But since it's not, you'll have to settle for a firm handshake."

Pressing one hand to his heart, Van gasped.  "Not even a hug?  I need to step up my game."

Eli's laugh followed him into the elevator, which was why he had a smile on his face when his phone started going nuts.

 

#

 

"Do I need to get Wilson back on security detail?" Captain Lamonte asked, leaning back in his chair.

Van stood at attention in his office, his cracked phone resting on the desk in front of him.  "No, sir."  He gritted his teeth as he resisted the urge to fidget.  He'd been planning to get a new phone anyway, but having his number leaked to the press was not how he wanted it to go.  The only good thing was that, after all the trouble with Lion, the family had a process in place if they had to change their number or go offline.

"In the last half hour, I have had the Chief of Police, the Commissioner, the Assistant Mayor, and the Head of the National Boxing Organization on my phone wanting to know what the hell is going on.  So, I'm going to ask one more time," Lamonte said, his eyes hard as he drummed his fingers against the arm of his chair.  "Is there any pertinent information that you'd like to make me aware of that would complicate you being on this security detail?"

"No, sir."

"Good, because that's what I told them all."  Lamonte sighed, throwing a frustrated glance at the phone.  "I hate reporters."

"I agree, sir."  Van had to force his hands to unclench.

"Have a seat, Harris.  Is someone working on getting you a new phone?"  The Captain grabbed a bag of peanuts off one of his shelves and held them out.  When Van waved them off, he shrugged.

Van glared around the office, frustration close to boiling over.  He'd managed to receive enough of one call from Lamonte that he'd known something was up, but he hadn't been prepared for the insanity that had followed.  The phone had been going off so much that he hadn't even been able to get through the menus to shut it down.  He'd finally just dropped it and ground his heel down until it stopped altogether.

"My brother's having one couriered to me," he said, his voice harsh.  If it weren't the Captain's office, he'd be pacing.

Lamonte eyed him.  "If you're sleeping with that boxer, I don't want to know."

Growling, Van gave in and paced the width of the room.  "I'm not."

"I just said I didn't want to know," Lamonte said, lips pursed as he watched Van for a moment.  "Look, Harris.  You can quote regs with the best of them.  If you don't think this is a conflict, then there's no conflict.  Do me a favor though.  If there starts to be a conflict, get yourself off this assignment before it ruins your career.  You're a good cop, and I'd hate to lose you to something that easy to avoid."

Van paced a few more times, the activity helping him burn off steam.  "He'd be worth it, sir," he said.

"Not making me feel any better, Harris."

"Sorry, sir.  I'll keep you posted, sir," Van said, starting to smile.

"In as little detail as possible, please.  Now get the hell out of my office."  Turning back to his computer, he glanced up as Van opened the door to the office.  "And Harris?  Good luck."

"Thank you, sir."