Sipping at his mug, Donal twisted slightly and beamed at Miki. “Ye make a damned fine cup of coffee, Miki boy. Course I learned at a cop house, and we’re not known for our brew.”
Miki couldn’t remember the stumble over to the couch, his mind still in a fog, but by the time he plopped down into the soft cushions, he’d shaken most of the numb off of his tongue. Cupping his hands around his nearly too hot mug, he sipped cautiously, hoping the steaming liquid would knock some sense back into him.
Instead his brain seemed to have handed over any common sense to the primal lizard part of its core, because rather than a polite expression of gratitude for Donal’s assistance, he blurted out, “You really meant that?”
“About the coffee? It’s verra good, son.” Donal peered at him curiously.
“No, not that. You guys would drink liquid goat shit if someone put it in a cup and called it coffee,” Miki snorted. “I mean the whole… ‘one of your boys’ thing. I don’t know what to do with that. Hell, I was just telling Damie that.”
“Ah, Miki boy.” Donal’s eyes—so much like Kane’s—softened perceptibly. “Yer as much mine as any of those that I’ve had with m’bride. I thought ye knew that.”
He kind of did. He just had a hard time believing it.
“Dude, I’m five kinds of fucked up. If I were Kane’s dad, I sure as shit wouldn’t want him to hook up with me.”
“Do ye really think that of yerself, Miki?”
“I couldn’t even get Valentine’s Day right.” He jerked his head toward the column of wood. “I had to talk his dad into coming to help me fix this—I bought him a dead tree!”
“First off, it’s a very nice dead tree. Perfect. And secondly, ye didn’t have to talk me into coming. I’d come anytime ye called.” Donal set his cup down, then took Miki’s from his hands. The second mug joined its brother on a roadie crate, and Miki found himself folded into Donal’s thick arms as he was pulled into a fierce hug. “Miki boy, there’s nothing wrong with ye. Yer not someone I ever imagined with Kane because I couldn’t even begin to imagine someone like ye. Yer perfect for m’boy.”
“Okay, anyone ever shoot you in the head? Because, dude, you sound like you got popped one,” Miki mumbled into Donal’s shoulder. “Maybe one too many football games. Blow to the head. That kind of stuff.”
Everything else he said was lost in the bulk of the Irish man holding him.
It felt good to be hugged. Especially by Donal. The feel of the embrace was so different from any he’d gotten from Damie or Kane. Beyond comforting, there was a protectiveness he couldn’t describe. Like if he held on for just a minute longer, he’d be all better once he let go. He put his arms up and hugged back, letting himself feel the strength of the man who’d taken him under his wing.
“Someday, Miki boy, yer going to know how much yer loved. Ye’ll not question it anymore, and I can’t wait for that day.” Donal tightened his arms, then rubbed at Miki’s back. “What did ye think when Kane had to go?”
“You don’t wanna know. We were um… yeah.” Miki shook his head, and Donal laughed, an echoing deep rumble. Detaching himself from Donal’s hug was hard, but the older man gave him a firm quick squeeze before he let go. “Mostly it was, Fuck? Really? Now you guys turn on the Bat Signal? It was pretty damned good there.”
“Not what ye were thinking about—spare me that, Miki boy. Some things a man shouldn’t know about his gay sons.” Donal ruffled Miki’s hair and handed Miki a coffee cup. “Were ye mad they called him in?”
“Hell no, he’s a cop. Shit’s gonna happen. People need him. Why would I be mad?”
“Because some people would be plenty pissed off he left. They’d think they weren’t coming first in his life,” Donal pointed out. “But ye know he loves ye, and him leaving—to do the job—wasn’t because he wanted to leave ye.”
“Dude, if someone’s dead, isn’t there like only a few hours where shit’s gotta be done? Before it all goes cold?”
“Aye. There is.”
“Then I’d be some pretty small-minded fuck to cry about not getting dinner or something.” Miki shrugged. “Kane’s going to come back when he’s done. Not like I haven’t eaten cold leftovers before in my life. Shit, that could have been the name of our band—Stone Cold Leftovers.”
“See? That’s why yer perfect for him.” Donal saluted him with his mug. “It’s hard loving a cop. We bring a lot of shite home. Ye’ve got to deal with it as much as he does.”