It's Complicated: A Reservations Story

As Julian took a seat on the edge of the mattress, he explained, starting from the beginning of the evening, leaving no detail unaccounted for. Beckett paced the small room, listening to each word until Julian finally got to the part of Micah’s arm wrapping around his waist. As Julian continued, the memory seemed so real—the culprit to his current state of anxiety and fear. Beckett took a seat on the other bed, facing Julian. He reached out for Julian’s hand as Julian explained he’d lost sight of the memory after the champagne flute shattered against the floor.

Silence held between them as they stared at each other.

Beckett had no idea what to say to make this moment better, so he squeezed Julian’s hand and moved to sit beside him.

“I haven’t properly thanked you for hiring Marc,” Julian said quietly, nodding his head toward the door. “I don’t know what I would have done without him here tonight. Having him with me eased the fear. He’s very good at what he does.”

Beckett brought Julian’s knuckles to his lips, pressing a kiss there. “It was his idea to follow you tonight. I wasn’t thinking clearly,” Beckett answered, wanting to hold more of Julian than just his hand.

He couldn’t imagine how Julian felt at having all the pieces come together like they had. How could a childhood friend cause Julian so much pain?

“Did the LAPD assign you an investigator? We should call them immediately.”

“They did, but after that first few months after the accident, I never heard from them again.” Julian had scooted into Beckett, moving closer until Beckett adjusted his position. Julian moved against his chest, resting his head against his shoulder. Beckett held on just as tightly. “I wouldn’t know who to call.”

“We’ll work it out in the morning. Maybe Marc can find the answers tonight,” Beckett offered, kissing the top of Julian’s hair. Julian held on to him as if his life depended on it. “It’s late. You should try to get some rest. I feel like tomorrow’s going to be a long day for you.”

“I need to talk to Thomas. I took off without saying anything to him.” Julian reached past Beckett for his cell phone on the nightstand. A lot of things were going to happen but fuck Thomas. The guy could be left guessing from now until eternity for all Beckett cared.

“He’ll figure it out,” Beckett said, gently plucking the phone from Julian’s hands, putting it back on the nightstand’s charger. Julian smiled up at Beckett, his palm caressing Beckett’s cheek.

“A jealous side?” Julian asked in a show of relaxation. He sat on his ass and kicked off his shoes before scooting back against the headboard.

“Not jealous necessarily. I’d rather say smart.” Beckett got to his feet, giving Julian room to get comfortable.

“Come join me?” Julian said, patting the bed, giving his sexiest grin. Julian was always a vision, especially with the eyeliner so artfully applied.

He tucked that away and gave a playful eye roll before starting for the door.

“Let me get Marc. He’s got a long drive home in the morning.”

“You’re firing him?” Julian asked as if that were the dumbest idea in the world. Beckett had to agree.

“No,” Beckett said with his hand on the doorknob. “But I’m not letting you out of my sight until they make an arrest. Which means I have you covered.”

“My Marlboro Man…” Julian murmured lovingly.

Beckett playfully rolled his eyes again, something he did a lot with Julian, and with the hand on the door handle, said, “I seriously don’t get that nickname. I don’t even smoke.”

Julian’s laughter was music to Beckett’s ears.

Chapter 38

Julian sat at a tiny four-seater table inside a small conference room in the Los Angeles Police Department. The chill in the air did nothing to calm his nerves. At least it didn’t appear to be a room set aside for interrogating criminals. Though that thought did little to help his current level of freak-out.

He’d been in the precinct for several hours, his right leg steadily bouncing, showing his anxiety. The room wasn’t much bigger than the table, and it could sure use some color and a picture or two to spruce the place up.

He envisioned all sorts of violent interrogations happening behind various closed doors in the building.

He mentally beat back monstrous waves of anxiety as they threatened to topple him. He wondered if Beckett could feel it from his seat beside Julian.

The flashback had been so much easier to absorb than this early morning meeting with the LAPD.

“Maybe we came too early,” Julian muttered, tightening the hold he had on Beckett’s hand. Beckett didn’t exhibit any of the nerves eating away at Julian. He seemed as at home in a police department as he did at the nightclub.

Did his Marlboro Man not get the difference between the two places?