Point of No Return (18 page)

I didn't remember conversations. I didn't remember ever speaking. As I looked around the waiting room at Mitch, Kurt, and Tony, I couldn't remember walking in there. The nurses and then doctors talked to me, but I couldn't repeat anything they said.

I did remember being told I had to wait.

That's what I was doing. Sitting in the waiting room and… waiting.

I looked around at the three men waiting with me.

None of us were the same. None of us were the same men we had been just a few hours before. We were forever changed.

It was after one AM. My head fell back against the wall behind me, and just for a moment, I closed my eyes.

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I was startled when Berkman sat down beside me with a huff. "The media's all over this," he said with disdain. "It's a fucking circus."

So that was it.

Just like that, it was done. I sighed. "My career is over." My voice sounded flat, even to me.

Mitch blinked tiredly and looked hard at me,

obviously not up for riddles. "What do you mean?"

I shook my head. "Never mind," I said quietly, dismissively.

"You mean because of the gay thing?" Kurt asked bluntly.

I raised my eyebrows at him. "Gay thing?"

Berkman looked between the four of us, then at me.

"They didn't know?"

Tony answered. "No, we didn't know."

I looked at Berkman. The way he asked the question was odd. "You knew?"

"Yeah," he shrugged. "It's not rocket science. You said Kira was Japanese."

I nodded.

"Well, Kira in Japanese is a guy's name," he said simply.

Oh. Of course. I shrugged. "I didn't think anyone would know…"

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Mitch looked at me, his voice was quiet. "Why didn't you tell me?" Kurt, Tony, and Berkman stayed silent, knowing this was an issue between partners. "You should have told me."

"I tried," I told him honestly.

"The last few weeks? Is that what you've been trying to tell me?" he asked incredulously. I nodded, and he laughed without humor. "What about the last two years?

We've been
partners
for years." He swallowed loudly.

"You lied to me."

"I never lied," I said defiantly, getting to my feet. "I never said
she
or
her
. You guys did, not me."

"But you never corrected us either!" Mitch cried.

"Have I ever given you reason to think I wouldn't accept it?"

I shook my head and conceded, "No."

When I looked at him, I could see his issue wasn't with me being gay. It was honesty. He looked like he'd been through hell. He had. We all had.

"Then why?" he growled at me.

"Because I'm a
good
cop," I told him. "I'm a great cop, a tough cop, a fair cop."

He looked at me, confused. So I spelled it out for him. "As soon as the media finds out," I said, pointing toward the outside window. "No matter what the hell I do

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after today, no matter how many drug rings I bust, no matter how many lives I save, I'm nothing but a
gay
cop."

"Is that what you meant when you said your career's over?"

Before I could answer, two doctors walked into the room. The other four men joined me, standing. "How are they?"

The first doctor said, "Gentlemen," in greeting.

"The three women are shaken and in shock, considering what they've been through, but physically they're unharmed. We'll give them something to help them sleep, but they can go home in about half an hour."

Everyone in the room breathed.

The second doctor said, "All reports say the same thing. If it weren't for Mr Franco, it could have been a very different story. According to all three women, Mr Franco put himself between them and the attackers."

I was almost scared to ask. "Is he okay?"

The first doctor looked at me apologetically. "He's taken one hell of a beating. His left arm was badly broken and needs surgery, and he has broken ribs, stitches above his eye, and a lot of abrasions. We've run x-rays and scans.

There's no fractured skull or internal injuries—"

I sucked back a ragged breath. "Can I see him?"

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I was led down a hall, and when the doctor stopped at a door, he looked at me and spoke softly. "We've given him something to help him sleep."

I was frozen, unable to move. Fear rooted my feet to the floor. A hand touched my shoulder, and Mitch's voice told me it was okay.

I could see Kira on the bed, lying still and quiet. My eyes stung, and I willed myself not to cry. He was so broken, so vulnerable.

My legs felt as if they were made of lead, but I somehow walked past machines to the far side of the bed.

He'd been cleaned up. The dried blood was gone, replaced with bandages and bruises, and some plaster. I was scared to touch him.

I leaned down and kissed his lips, his bruised and swollen lips. I knew he was sleeping and couldn't hear me, but I told him anyway that I was sorry and I loved him.

When I looked up, Mitch was still there watching me. I was so tired and scared and relieved and sorry. I tried not to cry.

Then Kira's mother, Yumi, was there, rushing into the room. I was too tired to be surprised to see her. She touched my arm, but didn't look at me; her concern was for her son. Sal stepped around Mitch, and the tall, silent man, Kira's father, stared at me.

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What could I say? What could I possibly say for what I'd done to his boy? I lifted my right fist to my heart, drawing circles over my chest. I did it again and again, telling him over and over I was sorry.

I was so fucking sorry.

Mitch watched as Sal pulled me into his arms, and I couldn't hold back the tears. Kira's father held me as I fell to pieces in his arms and cried.

When I looked at Mitch, he was staring at me with sad, glistening eyes. He gave me a nod then turned and walked away.

Sal cupped his large hand on my cheek, making me look at him. His eyes flickered to Kira and then back to me.

He led me over to the bed, and I quietly told them what I knew about his injuries, what he went through, how brave he was. Then I told them I loved their son. I loved him, and I hoped to God he could forgive me.

Yumi wiped my face, gave me a hug and smiled

through her tears. She explained how the phone had rung, some channel wanting the scoop on Kira. "I hang up, and it rings again, but this time it was the hospital. How do the TV people know before the parents? The next of kin?" She was angry and scared, and I didn't blame her.

I looked at my watch. It was three AM. "Are there TV crews outside the hospital?"

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Yumi nodded. "Everywhere."

A wave of exhaustion rolled over me. I think I swayed, because Sal put his hands on my shoulders to keep my steady.

"You should sleep," Yumi said softly.

I shook my head. "I'm not leaving."

She nodded, then had a sign-conversation with Sal that I didn't even pretend to follow. Then Yumi said, "We'll go. We've seen him, and you're with him, so we know he'll be okay. We'll come back first thing." She smiled kindly, motherly. "Is there anything you'll need?"

I had no idea. I couldn't think, so I just shook my head.

Kira's mom looked at me sadly. "He's sleeping. You should do the same."

I didn't wait for them to leave before I sat on the edge of the bed, and taking up as little room as possible, I laid down on my side next to Kira.

Resting my head on the inside of my arm, I looked at the side of his face and listened to his soft breathing, until my eyes wouldn't stay open any longer. Sometime later, a nurse came in with a blanket, telling me I couldn't sleep on the bed. She pulled out the chair, helped me into it and threw the blanket over me.

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The next thing I knew, it was daylight. My body ached, and I heard voices and footsteps.

I remembered where I was.

I sat bolt upright, trying to get my bearings, when I saw him.

Kira was awake, and there was a nurse talking to him, but I went to him and took his right hand like she wasn't even there. His left eye was almost swollen shut, the bruises were highly colored and swollen, and he had small cuts everywhere.

"Hey," I breathed.

He squeezed my hand, and his voice was soft and croaky. "Hey."

Leaning in, I kissed his lips softly. If he was surprised at my public display of affection, I couldn't tell. "I don't care who sees," I told him. His one good eye blinked slowly, then looked at me for a long moment. Maybe it wasn't the right time, but I said it anyway. "I was so scared, baby," I said, swallowing my emotions. "I was so scared."

He nodded. His good eye closed, but his hold on my hand tightened.

He was quiet, not withdrawn, more reflective, and considering what he'd been through, it was to be expected.

He picked at his breakfast and answered all questions with a nod or a shake of his head.

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His room was constantly busy. His mom and dad

were there before seven, bringing a change of clothes for both of us and some coffee for me. Nurses came in and out, taking observations, telling us if he promised complete bed rest, he might even be allowed to go home today.

The most surprising visitor was Berkman.

He poked his head around the door, saw me and

smiled. He looked… older. Like last night had aged him ten years. "Just checking in on our hero," he said as he walked in.

I smiled at my boss and introduced him to Kira's parents. When Sal signed hello, Berkman looked to me and smiled with an understanding nod. "Ah, the sign language…"

I grinned, and taking a deep breath, I introduced him to Kira.

"Ross Berkman, my boss, I'd like you to meet Kira Takeo Franco." Then I added, "My boyfriend."

Berkman didn't bat an eyelid. "It's an honor to meet you, Kira," he said, shaking his hand. "You saved my entire team last night."

Kira blinked and answered softly. "I um, no, I just…"

Berkman interrupted him. "Don't argue with me, son." I chuckled, knowing Berkman and his no-nonsense

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boss-of-police attitude. "I saw the whole damn thing,"

Berkman went on to tell him. "And you're front page news."

Kira looked at me, then back to Berkman, wincing at the sudden movement. His voice was quiet. "Is it bad?"

Berkman sighed and nodded. "Don't have anywhere you can hide out for a week or two while this blows over?"

I looked at Kira. "Actually, we do." Turning to Yumi and Sal, I asked them, "If it's all right with you, maybe I could take Kira to the cabin. He'll need complete rest, and it's so peaceful there."

Yumi nodded and smiled. "Of course. Good idea."

Kira tried to sit up, but wincing and holding his side, he settled back on the bed. I was quick to reach out, not sure where to touch him. "Are you okay?"

He breathed out slowly and gave me a nod. "How do we leave here?" he looked at me and mumbled. "If they know…"

Yumi snorted. "I'll send your father out for a press conference. He can listen to all they have to say." Sal rolled his eyes, and I couldn't help but chuckle. Berkman grinned, and even the corner of Kira's swollen lip curled upward.

I took his hand and told him, "We walk out of here with our heads held high. I'm not hiding anything from anyone anymore."

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Chapter 17

It was Berkman who called an impromptu media

conference out in the front of the hospital, which allowed us to leave undetected. Kira said he wasn't up for the press, and I didn't argue. The paparazzi, looking for the photo of LAPD's golden boy with his
boyfriend
, thankfully hadn't tracked us down. The cabin was peaceful, remote and private. Perfect.

Kira was quiet and reserved for the first three days after he left the hospital. He dozed on and off most of the time, though it was a fitful sleep. He tossed and turned, and woke up panting and sweating.

For a man who would eat like a horse the week

before and wouldn't take even a Tylenol ever, he didn't eat much at all and took his pain meds without so much as a second glance. His movements were slow and pained, and he liked me near him all the time.

The doctors told us that bouts of depression, anger, and frustration would be frequent, and not to take it personally. He was booked in to speak to an LAPD

counselor trained in how to deal with the aftermath of what he went through. All four of them: Kira, Anna, Evie, and Rachel were booked in, at Berkman's insistence. Kira had said he'd go, but he hadn't mentioned it since.

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We spent most of our days on a deck chair on the veranda, surrounded by trees, overlooking the mountains.

He'd lie between my legs with his back to my front, his head on my chest, and even though it was peaceful, his silence was wearing me down.

I didn't want to push him, but the guilt of his ordeal was a weight I just couldn't carry. I told him I was sorry. I told him a hundred times. He dismissed me, telling me it was hardly my fault, but his ongoing silence told me otherwise. I tried not to make it about me, because it wasn't. It wasn't about me at all.