All Kinds of Tied Down (Marshals 1)

“I was expecting my son,” Colin said as I walked up the stairs.

“I know.” I smiled. “But he got called away, sir.”

“Oh,” he sighed, his eyes meeting mine. “When?”

“Early this morning.”

“He didn’t call me.”

“I’m sure he will,” I lied. I was the only one Ian would even consider getting word to.

He scoffed. “I don’t know about that. The only reason he sees me at all is because of this dog.”

I opened my mouth to argue.

“And you, Miro.”

“That’s not true, and I didn’t do—”

“You’re the one who suggested it. You’re the one who said, maybe let your dad take care of the dog instead of hiring someone to go to your place and walk him.”

“Yeah, well.” I shrugged. “That might not have been me doing you a favor since he eats his weight in food every day.”

He chuckled. “You did me a huge favor, Miro, and I’ll always be grateful.”

“He shouldn’t have told you.”

“It would have been nice if he hadn’t. I could have pretended that he came up with it all on his own.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“It was no big deal.”

He locked me in place with his ice blue gaze, so similar to his son’s, the difference being the lack of the heavy laugh lines at the corners. His father didn’t have those. “It meant a lot to me, Miro.”

I nodded.

I knew the history between the two men only vaguely. The little I did centered around a divorce, after which neither son nor mother heard from Colin Doyle again. He had shown for her funeral, though, twenty years later, which was the last time Ian had seen his father before we ran into him downtown. Ian and I had been partners for two years at that point. I had stopped when his name was called out, but Ian had not.

“C’mon,” Ian had growled, his hand tight on my bicep, trying to move me.

“That man called your name, idiot,” I said, waiting as he reached us, his smile wide, hand extended to me.

“Hello,” he huffed as I took his hand. “Colin Doyle, good to meet you.”

I was trying to figure out who the man was. Cousin? Uncle? “And you, sir.”

“I’m Ian’s father.”

“Oh,” I replied, stunned, having no clue that my partner of two years had family in Chicago. Turning to Ian, I waited for an explanation.

Arms crossed, muscles in his jaw clenching, my partner was stone silent.

“How are you, boy?” Colin asked softly.

I elbowed Ian in the arm.

“Fine,” he muttered.

“It’s wonderful to meet you,” I said softly, covering his dad’s hand with my other. “Would you like to join us for lunch, sir?”

“I would love that,” he rasped, and I saw the quivering hope on his face. He was, in that moment, breakable. “If it would be all right with Ian, that is.”

I looked at my partner, daring him to say a word.

“It’s fine,” he mumbled.

The restaurant was one of our favorites, a Greek place close to Centennial Park. We got a booth in the back, and I was going to sit across from Ian and his dad, but Ian shoved me into the booth first and then slid in beside me. His knee bumped mine under the table, but instead of moving away, he stayed close.

“So Miro,” Colin began, having learned my name on the walk over. “What is it you do?”

“I’m a deputy US marshal, sir, like your son.”

“You’re a marshal?” Colin asked Ian.

And he had begrudgingly answered, as well as every question after that. But each one had to be dragged out, until Colin got up to use the bathroom and I rounded on my partner and shoved him out of the booth.

“What the fuck?”

I was on my feet in front of him in seconds, poking him in the chest, which was like trying to prod a piece of granite. “How dare you treat your father that way!”

“It’s none of your fuckin’ business, Miro,” he insisted, his tone icy. “And after what he did to my mother, you—”

“What’d he do?”

“I’m not gonna—”

“Did he beat her?”

“No,” he snapped.

“Drink?”

“I don’t want to get into—”

“Gamble? Cheat on her?”

“Miro, you—”

“Did he hit you?”

“No, he—”

“Abuse you?”

“What’re you trying to—”

“I wanna know what he did.”

“He fuckin’ left!” he whispered harshly instead of yelling, leaning close so only I could hear him clearly. “One minute he was there, the next he was… you don’t even know.”

I studied him.

“What?” he demanded angrily.

“He left you guys.”

“Yes.”

I squinted at him.

“She was never the same. She never laughed again.”

Not even for her son? It sounded infinitely selfish to me. Wasn’t the one parent left over supposed to do the work of two? Wasn’t that how it worked? Not that I had any experience with any kind of family, but that was my understanding.

“Okay,” I said, nodding, sitting back down and sliding into the booth.

After a moment, he joined me, careful the second time not to touch me.